A New York Christmas (5 page)

“She was apparently a very vivacious woman,” he began. “Pretty in her own way, and very fashionable.
Made herself most agreeable. I think she tried to keep her more eccentric opinions to herself, but she certainly did not always succeed.”

“What opinions?” Jemima asked, then saw his expression and wished she had not.

“On racial matters, and people’s position in society, property rights. Which is amusing in a dry way, considering she met Edward Cardew in our house, and was quick enough to accept his proposal of marriage.”

“Are you saying she was a hypocrite?” Jemima asked as innocently as she could.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I suppose I am. Her subsequent history rather proves my point.”

“Yet Miss Albright speaks well of her,” Jemima pointed out.

Harley’s expression was a mixture of anger and attempted patience.

“Celia likes anyone who likes her, and Maria knew that.”

“I see,” Jemima replied, forming a strange and not very pleasant picture in her head of a selfish and manipulative woman who had deeply hurt her husband and her only child.

Jemima was careful to say nothing to Phinnie about how she was spending her days. As far as everyone else was concerned, Harley was merely spending time with Jemima in order to show her around the city he knew and loved, and she was greatly enjoying it.

Soon the weather turned much colder. Jemima woke up on the third day of their quest to find everything mantled in white.

“I must show you Central Park in the snow!” Harley said at the breakfast table, a gleam of excitement in his eyes.

“Indeed,” Mr. Albright agreed. “It is a wonderful sight. If it is deep enough, there will be people playing all manner of games. And if there is ice, there will be skating. I might come with you …”

“Thank you, Father,” Harley said with a very slight drop in his voice. “But we will be fine. I’m sure you have matters that need your attention.”

Brent stifled a smile; a complete misunderstanding, as Jemima knew. Harley had no interest in being alone in her company. What he had was an idea as to where they might find Maria Cardew. Something about the snow had clearly awakened a memory in him. She could not afford to pass up this chance. She bowed her head
slightly as if both happy and self-conscious, and saw a fleeting look of alarm in Harley’s eyes.

“Of course,” Mr. Albright agreed, as if he understood perfectly, and it pleased him.

Jemima concentrated on the anticipation of discovering Maria Cardew.

She and Harley set out as early as they could without giving rise to more comment, which she thought he found even more uncomfortable than she did. The air was brisk and the wind had a bite to it, but he did not ask her if she still wished to go out. It would have been the courteous thing to do, even though he knew she would not refuse to go.

They took the carriage as far as Central Park, then dismissed the driver, saying that their plans were too open for them to estimate a time for him to return. He smiled and drove off.

Harley looked discomfited for a moment, then recovered himself.

“The snow this morning has reminded me of something Aunt Celia once told me, Miss Pitt. Maria Cardew used to enjoy such weather, most especially when the snow was newly fallen and still outlining the branches of the bare trees. If she is here in New York, as I am
certain she is, she will be most likely to walk in the park this morning. Of course we could well miss her—it is a very large place—but I do know the best walks for such sights, and undoubtedly Maria does too. If you are willing to go at a brisk pace, we perhaps have a chance of spotting her. Together, we will not draw any unusual attention, and we may follow her to wherever she is staying.”

“That is a good plan,” she agreed, walking rapidly beside him. “And people will be going carefully, watching that they do not slip, so she will be less likely to notice that the same couple is behind her over a considerable distance.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “I had not thought of that.” He offered her his arm.

She took it as if it was the most natural thing to do.

It was well into the afternoon and Jemima’s feet were aching badly when finally, they spotted a woman of medium height standing on her own some thirty yards ahead of them. She turned to face their direction for a moment, staring up at the light through the snow-laden branches of the trees, her face filled with wonder.

Harley stiffened. His hand grasped Jemima’s arm, so she stopped as well. Then, as the woman continued her
walk, he moved forward urgently. His pace increased so that gradually the distance between them closed.

“Is that her? Do you want to confront her here?” Jemima asked him breathlessly. “If she makes a scene, we will draw everyone’s attention, and if she leaves, we may not be able to follow her to wherever she is lodging.”

“I think it is her, but I can’t be entirely sure.” He let out his breath in annoyance, and slowed down again, allowing the woman in front to reach the edge of the park and walk along the pavement toward a crossing.

The traffic eased and they followed the woman to the other side. She continued along the footpath and they moved a little closer to her so as not to lose her in the general crowd as they went eastward.

“Have you thought what you will say to her?” Jemima asked, but she did not quite hear his reply amid the sounds of the street and the crunch of footsteps in the snow.

Once, she lost Harley in crossing a busy road whose name was merely a number, like most of the ones around them. A wave of panic swept over her. Then she remembered that she had money, she knew the address of the Albright mansion, and she was certainly capable of
speaking the language and asking for assistance. There were public conveyances here, just as there were in London. She took a deep breath to calm herself.

The next moment, he was there beside her.

“You had better take my arm, Miss Pitt,” he said a little sharply. “It would be disastrous if I were to lose you.”

“It would be inconvenient,” she corrected him. “I am afraid an elderly lady stepped between us and I could not move around her to keep up with you.”

“It can’t be helped. I lost the woman, but I am fairly certain it was Maria, and I believe I know the neighborhood where she went. We will go there tomorrow when we have prepared ourselves, and we shall find her exact rooms. Your assistance has been of the highest order, Miss Pitt, and our whole family owes you a considerable debt.” He started to walk back the way they had come, automatically taking her with him. “Phinnie will never know of it. I am sure you have more grace and tact than to tell her, but I shall not forget what you have done. I am truly grateful. Now if you are ready, we shall find a cab and return home. It is getting dark, and I think it is very much colder.”

Jemima was glad to agree.

D
inner was full of conversation about the wedding: Were they sure the right flowers would be available? Was Aunt Mabel going to recover her health in time to attend? Was the cake perfectly iced yet? Jemima was asked politely about her day, but as soon as she had made clear that it had been enjoyable, and that she was impressed by the beauty of the park in its white covering, discussion returned to the wedding.

She felt a little left out; she didn’t know most of the people referred to. But she reminded herself that she was here to look after Phinnie and see that it was truly the happiest day of her life. Above all, without Phinnie ever knowing, she must make certain that Maria Cardew did not get in the way.

She pictured the woman they had seen in the park. Her face, as she turned in wonder to gaze at the snow-mantled trees, had not looked dissipated, or even angry or tired. But Jemima had been some distance away. Closer up, it might have betrayed all kinds of weaknesses, even the beginnings of disease. As her mother was wont to say, “At twenty you have the face nature
has given you; at fifty you have the face you deserve.” Time has a way of carving your character into you so that all may see it at a glance. The lines of habit cut deep, for better or worse.

The next morning she set out with Harley to find and confront Maria Cardew. He assured her that he had decided exactly what to say to her, and a fall-back attitude to adopt if she should prove unreasonable. He was prepared to offer her money, in spite of Jemima’s advice to the contrary.

They were in a coffee shop a block and a half from the building where he suspected Maria had gone on the previous evening when Harley spoke of his plan.

“I am fairly sure I know which building it is, but I don’t know which rooms,” he told her as they sat opposite each other, their hands around their hot mugs. “I will go and inquire. Perhaps it may be necessary to bribe someone to let me know exactly where she is. Also, of course, I don’t know how she is satisfying the landlord regarding her rent,” he went on. “It is not a seemly place for you to come, except when I have actually found her. I regret that I have to involve you at all, and I am still hesitant, now that I see the neighborhood in daylight. But I think you may be able to persuade her of the harm
she would do Phinnie better than I can. I am ashamed to use your help, but I fear I cannot do without it.”

“Mr. Albright,” Jemima said urgently, “please don’t apologize. We have come this far together, in a cause that is important to both of us. I am not afraid of a slight unpleasantness at the end. Let me know when you find her, and I shall come.”

“I admire you, Miss Pitt, and I am most grateful,” he replied. Then he ordered another cup of coffee for her, paid for it, and left to go out into the gently falling snow.

A full half hour later, he had still not returned. Wondering what could’ve kept him, Jemima decided to approach the building herself. If she did not see Harley, she could always return to the coffee shop.

She fastened her coat and went out into the snow. It took her seven or eight minutes walking into the wind before she reached the building. She went in at the entrance and found herself in a tired and rather grubby hall. She understood at once why Harley had not wanted her to come here without him. But what on Earth could’ve kept him for so long? Jemima walked the length of the hall, annoyed. After a few minutes, she decided it was best that she just return to the coffee shop. As she turned toward the door, a young boy came in.

“Excuse me,” Jemima said impulsively. The boy turned toward her and smiled, showing beautiful teeth.

“Do you by chance know which rooms belong to Maria Cardew?” She did not believe he would know, but thought it was worth asking.

The boy nodded. “309, I think,” he said, but with so strong an accent from somewhere in Eastern Europe that she took a moment to deduce what he said.

“Thank you!” Jemima gave him a nickel from her purse. He took it and hid it immediately, then gave her another smile and darted outside again.

It was a steep climb to the third floor, but in minutes she was at the top, looking at numbers on the doors. She found 309 at the far end and hesitated outside the door, wondering if she should go down and look for Harley. But perhaps Maria Cardew would be more inclined to listen to her, someone who had no history with the Albright and Cardew families, save being Phinnie’s friend? She decided it was worth a try, and knocked on the scratched wooden door.

There was no answer. Actually, it was not completely shut. She gave it a push and it swung wider.

There was a slight rustling sound from inside.

“Mr. Albright?” Jemima called. She would have said “Mrs. Cardew,” but she was not certain if that was the name Maria still used!

Again there was no answer, just a faint swish of movement, like the fabric of a long skirt over the floor.

She would have to use some name.

“Mrs. Cardew?” She tried again.

Nothing but the swish of fabric on the floor again. This was absurd. The door was unfastened; there must be someone inside. Jemima pushed the door open the rest of the way and went in, calling again for Mrs. Cardew.

The sitting room was pleasantly furnished but very shabby. One of the windows was open and a curtain blew in the wind, making a slight noise as it moved over the carpet and settled back. That was the sound she had heard.

She stared around her. There were plenty of signs of occupation: a number of books on the shelves, a bag with knitting needles and wool sitting neatly by one of the armchairs, a handmade rug for the knees folded up but within easy reach.

Another door was open and she could see that it led
to a tiny kitchen. Anyone inside would have been visible.

“Mrs. Cardew!” she called again, going to the door on the opposite side. She knocked on it and waited, then tried the handle. What could she possibly say in explanation if she intruded into someone’s bedroom and found them there? She had no earthly excuse.

And yet she did it.

She saw the woman immediately. The bedroom was small and neat, with two single beds in it. One was neatly made and empty, as if it were not used. On the other a woman lay motionless. The skin of her face was bleached almost gray and her dark hair, streaked with white, was loose and tangled as if she had been moving restlessly only a short while ago. One thin, blue-veined hand rested on the covers.